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A prompt-fill blog run by concertconfetti! Gideon, adult, they/them.
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my idea for a new disney world ride. please signal boost this so that this ride can be at disney world.
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please tell me you guys have seen the new minnesota flag competion
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"I feel so normal about him" well I dont. move
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If yes, please tell me where ur from in the tags!
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Me: waiting for any form of public transport
Rain: starts
Some deep dark part of my brain that never forgot the first night vale episode: 👀🕐🚌🌧🌧🕐🕐🚌🌧
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poll bc my friend told me that ever since she read the locked tomb to help herself fall asleep she has been listing the names of all the characters in order in her head and that is so fascinating to me. me personally. i think about scenarios. what do u think about before bed
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'Cause We're One and the Same
This fic was inspired by this art from @itsrapsodia -- I got this scene of the two of them together stuck in my head and ended up writing it! (As a... general sort of trigger warning, Jaskier opens the fic by making a joke about not having a penis; my intention was that he experiences little-to-no bottom dysphoria and being both slightly drunk and around trusted friends, he’s comfy stating that.)
"--and that fucking Valdo Marx," Jaskier says, gesticulating wildly with his thankfully mostly-empty mug, "always sauntering around like he's so much better than everyone else just because he managed to get a court position straight out of Oxenfurt instead of slumming it like the rest of us, and all the rest of-- them," with a peculiar emphasis on the word that Geralt has no clue what it means but Priscilla and Essi clearly do, "acting like they're so much better than us."
Priscilla makes a sharp noise of agreement and sets her glass down on the table with a thunk. "It's like it's all just a contest to them, who can get the most popular song or the biggest royal patronage or--"
"It's a dick-measuring contest, is what it is," Jaskier says with finality, thumping his hands on the table, and Geralt snorts.
"Which you're exempt from?"
"Geralt, darling, I think by virtue of not having a dick--"and his mouth snaps shut, eyes going wide and startled. “Shit.”
Geralt blinks.
"Um," says Priscilla, and then leans over and says in a furious whisper "you haven't told him?!"
"No, I haven't," Jaskier mutters, seeming almost-- shocked, "it never came up, and he can hear you."
Geralt hums to indicate that he can, in fact, hear them both, and turns his gaze on Jaskier. The bard is growing paler by the moment, all the blood draining from his face, and for the first time since they met Geralt can smell-- fear? Just the barest traces of it, overlaid with alcohol and nerves, but it's the first time it's been really, truly, directed at him.
Jaskier's fingers are rattling on the tabletop, off-beat and out of rhythm, and then he shoves himself up and away with far more force than necessary. "I'm-- getting some air. Don't wait up."
"Jaskier--" Geralt says, half-reaching out to him, but Essi puts her hand on his wrist and pushes it back down, firmly, and Priscilla gives him a glare that could curdle milk as Jaskier ducks through the growing crowd inside Three Little Bells. He's had worse glares from Lambert, but there's something about seeing Jaskier so shaken from what seemed to be nothing more than a slip of the tongue that leaves him... unsettled.
He shakes off Essi's arm and rises to go after him, to make sure the bard's okay, but Priscilla catches him by the fabric of his sleeve. "Leave him." He blinks at her, and she levels him with that glare again. "He doesn't need you barging in after he's already said too much," and Geralt looks at her, really looks at her and how much she cares, and dips his head.
"If he comes back, tell him I'll be in the room." She keeps glaring at him, fierce and protective, but very deliberately lets go of his sleeve, and he walks away before he can start to think about-- whatever it was that just happened
~
He's carefully cleaning his steel sword when Jaskier comes stumbling back into the room, still pale-faced but with the scent of alcohol no longer quite so pungent from him. He's sobered up a bit, then, and Geralt very carefully sets the sword to the side, folds his hands in his lap and tries to look as unintimidating as possible. It's late enough that the tavern is quiet now, and he's had plenty of time to think about what he wants to say to the bard. There’s a lot of secrets he hasn’t wanted, or even had the chance to tell, but he’s beginning to think--
Better to see what the bard says first, though.
"Hello, Geralt."
He hums in response, not quite sure how to start... whatever this is. Jaskier closes the door behind him with exaggerated care, and then doesn't move from the middle of the room, scratching at his lute calluses in the familiar nervous gesture, the tension radiating off of him in a cloud. Literally; Geralt can smell it.
"I should probably. Um. Explain."
Geralt nods, and then seeing how Jaskier goes that much paler, huffs and clambers to his feet to haul out the room's single chair. "Sit down before you fall down."
"Ah. Thanks?" It's almost more a question than anything else, but Geralt nods in what he hopes is a reassuring manner and retreats back to the bed.
"Right. So. I should... probably tell you. What I meant by-- by that." Jaskier flounders, hands fluttering wildly through the air, and settles on "I-- I wasn't born a-- a man."
It's only one of the answers Geralt had been prepared to hear, but it settles something reassuring in his gut, that there's more common ground between them than only a few years of shared adventures. "Neither was I."
"I know it's not exactly-- talked about, but I promise you it's very real and I really am a man and if you don’t think that’s true we are going to have-- hang on, what?"
"I wasn't born a man."
Jaskier gapes.
"But you're--" and he flaps his hands in Geralt's general direction, "I mean, you-- I've never seen you-- really?"
"Yes."
"And you're not just saying that to make me feel better, in some twisted... I'm-an-outcast-from-society-and-I-don't-understand-basic-etiquette-like-not-telling-bards-they're-pitchy-to-their-face kind of way?"
Geralt lifts an eyebrow, carefully not commenting on the fact that he had been pitchy, and Jaskier lets out a sound that might be a laugh and might be a sob. "Right, yeah, when do you ever care enough about my feelings to do something like that. Fuck, Geralt, you can't just-- spring that on a fellow. I mean-- gods, here I was worried that you'd be... weird about it, and instead you're--"
"As dickless as you are?"
"Oh, fuck off," but the fear-scent is gone, the color slowly coming back into his cheeks, and he slouches back into his chair in a boneless heap. "Gods. I-- thanks, by the way."
"For what?"
"For... for trusting me, I guess? I mean it can't exactly be the kind of knowledge you want getting out there, what with witchering being... witchering."
Geralt shrugs. His brothers all know, of course, and so did most of the Wolf School before the pogrom -- hard to keep secrets like that with communal bathing, and there were always a few of his kind -- their kind, now -- in every school. "Most people just... assume."
"Right, yes, what with the whole... big grumpy manly... man look you've got going on there. How did you do that, by the way, some kind of potion? Transformation spell?"
"The Trials," Geralt says, trying to hide the flinch that comes with the memory, even after all these years. "They made us all like this."
"Ah," says Jaskier, and falls silent, not quite looking at him, or at anything in particular.
"Are you--" Geralt starts, the dim memory of before the Trials and the horrible sense of not fitting into his own skin surfacing unbidden, and Jaskier must read something in the look on his face because he nearly lunges forward out of his own chair.
"No! No, I'm-- I'm happy, really, Geralt, I promise. Just, uh, teensy bit jealous, you've got the whole--" and he makes another of those flailing gestures that only really manages to indicate where Geralt is in the room rather than anything in particular about him, "muscles and jawline and stubble thing really going for you."
"You can grow a beard too," because he can, he saw it when Jaskier's razor broke in the middle of Kaedwen and he couldn't get a replacement for a week and a half.
"I can!" and Jaskier grins, impossibly wide. "There's a-- a potion, there's a mage in Novigrad that makes it, it's why I'm here, actually, and it's what makes me, well--" and he gestures proudly to himself, to the long trim line of his torso and the shadow of dark stubble on his jaw and Geralt can't stop the half-smile that grows across his face because even though it's been sixty years and more he still remembers the impossible joy of finding a skin that fit.
Jaskier grins back at him, bright and brilliant and throws himself forward to wrap his arms around Geralt's shoulders in an abrupt embrace. Geralt can smell the happiness rising off of him and for once he doesn't stop himself from holding the bard back, because-- There were others like him, at Kaer Morhen, but they all died in the pogrom a long, long time ago and it's been... lonely, since.
"Thanks," Jaskier says, softly.
"For what?"
"For being here," and Geralt only hums and holds him tighter.
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drabbles: send me characters and a prompt
Leave a “Amuse Me” in my ask, and I will write a funny drabble about one character trying to cheer another up.
Leave a “Break Me” in my ask, and I will write an angsty drabble.
Leave a “Call Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character asking for another [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Drink Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about characters drinking, alone or with each other.
Leave a “Enamor Me” in my ask, and I will write a fluffy drabble characters trying to woo one another [be it out of the blue/Valentines Day, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Fight Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble out one character fighting with/or against another.
Leave a “Get Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character saving another.
Leave a “Haunt Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character watching over another [as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Invite Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character asking another character to join them.
Leave a “Join Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character giving another character an offer [be it a proposal for an alliance, asking them to join them in an activity, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Kill Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character killing another.
Leave a “Love Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a fluffy drabble about two (or more) characters.
Leave a “Mourn Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character mourning another character’s death.
Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character healing another.
Leave a “Offer Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character giving another a gift.
Leave a “Paint Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character drawing a picture of another [like one of your french girls~ be it painting them or drawing them, maybe offering a picture of them as a gift, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character trying to calm another down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Remember Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character trying to get another to remember them [be it from an accident, meeting them after years apart, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Tell Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character confessing something to another [be it a love confession, a secret, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Unbind Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character freeing another, or the other way around, or something among the lines [be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “Value Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character telling another how they feel about them.
Leave a “Wed Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about a character under the subject of wedlock [be it characters proposing to or marrying another, feel free to specify.]
Leave a “X Me” in my ask, and I will write whatever it is that you wish, [specify.]
Leave an “Yahoo Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about the specified characters celebrating something [feel free to specify.]
Leave an “Zip Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character dressing another, or the other way around [this can also be used for shutting them up as well, but feel free to specify.]
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New Plan
Wrote a little Enby!Jaskier/Geralt ficlet to hopefully cheer up @jaskierswolf a bit. I hope this makes you smile, dear!
Teen, warnings: misgendering, 800 words
---
Geralt checks the clock and curses under his breath as he realizes he started dinner a bit later than he’d intended. Jaskier should be home any time now, and they’re sure to be starving after such a long shift. Thankfully stir-fry cooks pretty quickly, and he cheated and bought the pre-sliced beef. He goes back to chopping vegetables and starts humming to himself - some melody that Jaskier has been working on all week - moving his hips to the beat in his head.
He’s just finishing up on the peppers when he hears a key in the lock, so he dumps some oil in the pan and turns on the stove. There’s a bottle of that weird IPA that Jaskier loves in the fridge, and he makes a mental note to grab it for them before he serves dinner.
Only instead of Jaskier’s usual perky greeting, Geralt is met with a drawn out sigh and the thump of Jaskier’s boots hitting the mat by the door. Without questioning it, he turns off the stove and hurries to wash his hands. Dinner can wait while he figures out what’s wrong with them. His partner obviously comes first.
“I missed you today,” Geralt calls out as he walks out of the kitchen. Jaskier shrugs and offers a half-assed smile, but Geralt can tell their heart isn’t in it.
“Me too, dear,” Jaskier sighs, wrapping themselves around Geralt in a tight hug. “You smell like onions. Working on dinner?”
“Yes, but first things first. What’s wrong?” Geralt asks before nuzzling Jaskier’s cheek with his own. The familiar scent of citrus and honey fills his nose and he presses a soft kiss right below their ear.
“Just that stupid bitch, Linda, in accounting,” they say, slumping further into Geralt with a groan. “How hard is it to use my proper pronouns? Do I look like a man today, Geralt? I’m wearing a headband. A headband with a fucking flower on it! It’s just so aggravating.”
“I don’t know, the ruffles on your blouse are giving me pirate fantasies, maybe she got confused,” Geralt jokes, hoping to get them smiling. There’s a tiny snort against his neck and then Jaskier giggles, so he counts it as a win. “What about trying HR again?”
“Well they did fuck all last time, so I’m not sure. I’ll bitch at my boss when she’s back in next week. Can we have a quiet night tonight?” Jaskier asks, as if Geralt wasn’t already planning on spending the whole night taking care of them and making sure they felt loved.
It’s so frustrating seeing someone he cares so much for get beaten down every day at work. How hard is it to properly address someone? Geralt already promised never to show up at Jaskier’s office again, but he still hates the amount of power Linda has over his partner. Jaskier will go from feeling amazing about their outfit to texting Geralt while crying in the bathroom.
“New plan,” Geralt tells them, pulling back to meet their gaze, “You go get undressed and I’ll draw you a bath. I think we still have one of those bath bombs you like. The weird smelling buttery ones from Lush. You have a soak, let me wash your hair, and then we can finish dinner together and curl up on the couch and watch shitty tv. Deal?”
“Only if it’s a bath for two,” Jaskier answers, already looking so much brighter than a moment ago. Geralt nods and shoos them off, patting their butt in appreciation before grabbing his cell out of his pocket. Jaskier blows him a flirty kiss over their shoulder, and Geralt has a feeling the bath might end up a little more active than he’d anticipated.
He has a full agenda for the night, but there’s no reason he can’t sic Lambert on Jaskier’s coworker. Perhaps a visit from an angry friend will talk some sense into her. Lambert says to let him know when Jaskier takes lunch tomorrow and that he’ll bring Aiden along. The two of them are quite the terrifying pair, and he really should feel bad about using them to send a message, but Jaskier shouldn’t have to deal with her treatment. He heads to the bathroom to get the bath ready, already willing to bet Linda will change her behavior after Lambert’s little chat.
He spends the rest of the night spoiling Jaskier and making sure they feel every ounce of love he has in his heart for them. They deserve to be taken care of, and Geralt aims to spend the rest of his life doing just that.
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I've posted nothing in ages so here's a snip featuring my children, Ashwood, the world's most put upon mage, and Robin Goodfellow, a Crane Witcher a fairy!
"George of Kagen? The Dragonslayer, knight of Gors Valen?" Questions left Ashwood in a rush - there was a fresco in the Great Hall of Kaer Morhen of George of Kagen. The way Coen spun the tale, George was mortally injured by a dragon in Valen and was buried by the Griffins in some hidden grotto.
"Oh, you've heard of our Lady! So few have, it's good to know she's remembered," Robin said with a wide grin. "We are not all so lucky - who yet remembers our Demontamer or poor Jerome? Certainly none keep Puck's name close."
"Puck?"
Robin froze, just for a moment, but long enough for Ashwood to note the wild confusion in his eyes. He stared at a single rock, digging blunt nails into the dull, beige skin of his knees. Eventually, Robin shook his head and the grin returned to his face. "My apologies," he said, "You asked something?"
"It's… not important," Ashwood waved the moment off. Later - he had nothing to take notes with, so it wouldn't do to dwell on the moment.
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hot for teacher
“So,” Zagreus walked towards Achilles, clapping the chalk from his hands. He had a swagger to his step and a smirk to his smile. “How was that?”
Achilles smiled, “not bad.” He was not effuse with praise for the boy, but neither did he restrain himself. Zeus knows he wasn’t getting much positive attention from his father. With a fond hand, Achilles ruffled Zagreus’ sweaty hair.
“Better than my distance record,” Zagreus said. He cut his eyes to Achilles coyly. “Does that mean I get a reward?”
So eager, his pupil.
“I suppose,“ Achilles said fondly, watching Zagreus mop the perspiration from his face with his chiton, the white linen pulling up and exposing his pale thighs. "You have truly put your mind to the battle, lad, and made me proud to call myself your teacher.”
Zagreus flushed happily, the way he always did when praised, soaking up Achilles’ approval like cracked earth in want of rain.
Keep reading
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